My Little Sociopath  Friendship Is Magic
by Brigadier-Erin-Lightning
Summary: .:Post Reichenbach:.  John receives a mysterious note from Sherlock that leads him to a magical adventure in the land of Ponyville; can he learn the true meaning of friendship?
1. Prologue

******My Little Sociopath: Friendship Is Magic******

By Erin R. Lightning

****Prologue****

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><p>John couldn't remember the last time he had seen the sun. It had been a year to the day since "the fall", as his therapist had begged of him to refer to it, and his heart still felt heavy at the mere mention of that horrible day. And ever since, the world had seemed….lacking. Missing a vital component. Colors were dimmer, the clouds loomed dark in the sky, conversations were more meaningless than ever.<p>

Without Sherlock, the world just wasn't the world. Wasn't John's world. How do you trudge on when the reason you wake up every morning gives up, removes himself from you, from existence, from all of it? Bollocks.

And yet John had endured. And here he was pulling up in a cab to Serenity Meadows, Holmes' final resting place, with bouquet in hand and so many unspoken goodbyes in his heart. He really had thought he'd be able to say it by now, say the truth that he had buried deep under a year of shock, hurt, and disillusionment, but he could never find the words. He hadn't returned since his visit with Mrs. Hudson three months after the incident. It had just been too hard.

He thanked and paid the cabby as he hobbled from the taxi – his limp had returned after months and months of repression; his therapist said this was due to the trauma caused by Sherlock's fall and she was right, but John really wished she would just bugger off. He rested a hand on his hip and inhaled deeply, suddenly finding it quite hard to breathe. He stared out across the many entombed dead, finding it difficult to move onward. Even after all this time, he could pick out Sherlock's grave without a moment's hesitation - that wasn't the problem. It was convincing himself to return, convincing himself that doing so meant coming to terms with the fact that he would never see his friend again.

He steeled himself. "Just a walk, John," he said to himself quietly, under his breath. "Just popping out for a walk to see an old friend. You can do it." He started limping in the direction of that dark and ominous tombstone. With each fall of his bad leg, a shower of petals seemed to drift down from the bouquet he held. Roses. A bitterness came over him. This had not been what he had thought of when he had once imagined bringing Sherlock flowers.

After a moment's stumbling, he paused and grew quite still. Something was attached to the front of Holmes' tombstone. A small square of bright pink – a notecard, or a post it. John blinked, confused. Who would leave a note on his dead friend's grave? Who would…

Sherlock's goodbye rung in his ears. _"…This is my note. That's what people do. They leave a note."_ John's heard leapt. It couldn't be! His pace quickened. The limp evened out. The flowers fell to the ground in his haste, abandoned.

_"Leave a note when?"_ John's voice echoed in his mind. _"Leave a note when, Sherlock?"_

His fingers reached forward and snatched it up. He read the words on it once. Then twice. Then his face turned red.

"_Make some friends. –SH_" read the discarded pink post-it.

Just some bloody prankster! Anger flooded his normally calm and callous features. He swung about, eyes glancing around the graveyard, flustered, his hands clenching into fists. 'If this is someone's idea of a joke, it's a ruddy horrible one, and I will skin the bastard responsible when I find him,' John thought; but he saw no one. The ex-army doctor threw the note to the ground and looked at the grave, as if blaming it for spontaneously leaving him the ill-humored message.

"I don't want friends," John snarled, though sorrow had crept to his words and his eyes were warm with tears. He felt more lost than ever. More alone than ever. "I just want you," he whispered.

But Sherlock was, aside from the note, as silent as the dead.

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><p><em>xx Author's Note: Wow, I don't know what happened. I accidentally the fandoms. Well, anyway, despite that sad first chapter, the fun's just beginning. Be prepared for John the Pony and his magical friend-making adventures in Ponyville with some of the ponies you know and love! There will most likely be singing too. Lots of singing. And balloons. Cheerio! xx<em>


	2. Chapter 1

**My Little Sociopath: Friendship Is Magic**  
>By Erin R. Lightning<p>

**Chapter 1**

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><p>"I've kept it as you boys left it," Mrs. Hudson's voice came mumbled through the heavy wooden door. A sucking noise and a click, and the hall door swung open with an eerie creak, a thin shaft of light fluttering across the carpet. Beside her stood the hunched figure of the army doctor, their silhouettes throwing dark shadows that paled in comparison to the looming pitch of the room itself, left untouched these past months.<p>

John's heart skipped a painful beat as the memories washed over him - all the remorse, the irritation, the tenderness he'd bottled away. Mrs. Hudson patted him on the shoulder and moved to the window. "We'll just let in a smidge of sunlight," she muttered softly and then the curtains were drawing back and light was flooding in.

Suddenly, John didn't just feel his pain – he saw it. He saw Sherlock standing in front of the couch, gun drawn, shooting the holes in the smiley face he'd adorned the opposing wall with. He saw the famed detective hunched over his books, saw him shouting at the telly. The bed sheet that lay discarded on the floor. The harpoon propped against the back wall. The smell of death that had lingered from Holmes' many "experiments", even though the Yard had long since come and taken what remained as "evidence" against the man they all believed had been nothing more than a lie. John had to hold his old chair to keep from falling over, his knuckle white against his cane.

It was obvious that Mrs. Hudson wanted to comfort him, but they'd a long friendship between them and, dottering old landlady that she often had been, she still knew when to leave well enough alone. "Well," she said, shifting her weight uneasily from one foot to the other. "I'll make some tea downstairs, and if you want to join me, I'd be glad for the company." She took a few steps toward the door, vanished, then reappeared just long enough to add, "And mind you don't worry about the back rent. Sherlock made certain it was taken care of when you boys first started on." Then she was gone, leaving John to puzzle over one more of Sherlock's secrets.

221B was a mess. John couldn't possibly know what to look for. Perhaps he had come home under the arduous and completely ludicrous assumption that he might find Sherlock here. He drew the note from his coat pocket and read it for the hundredth time since the drive over from the cemetery. 'Make some friends –SH'. He regarded it for a long moment and then, with a bitter sigh, thrust it back into his pocket. His attention turned to the mantel and the skull that rested upon it, covered in a thick layer of dust and webbing. Brushing his fingers over its smooth surface, he heard a voice echo in his head, Sherlock's voice, "A friend of mine. And when I say friend…"

He picked up the skull and carried it back to his chair, his leg suddenly aching with its familiar, dull pain. Sitting, he stared into the empty sockets. They stared back silently. "I have friends," John remarked to the skull. "Molly and Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson." Silence. He couldn't take the silence. John closed his eyes, willing another memory to life. Sweet, dark, dulcet violin music seemed to pervade the room.

"Do you talk to them?"

John opened his eyes, but he kept them focused on the skull. "Yes," he lied.

The voice scoffed. Sherlock's voice. He didn't need to tell John that he knew that was a lie; John could feel his disapproval, but some nagging part of John's mind fed him the cold truth: "If you did, you wouldn't need an imaginary friend."

The doctor was so lonely. He clutched the skull tighter. The room felt so familiar, but he knew that, should he look up, he would find it as empty as ever. "Alone protects me."

The music stopped. Imaginary Sherlock's voice was oddly soft. "Look where that got me."

John saw the roof of St. Barts. He saw Sherlock standing, a shadow against the sun. Saw him fall. The skull clattered to the ground. He curled up in the chair, his legs drawing up against his chest. "I still don't understand…" John whispered, but as always there was no answer, at least not from Sherlock. Instead, John's mind focused on something he himself had said. He mouthed the words as he heard them in his mind, but they felt hollow and empty.

"Friends….protect….you…"

A single tear fell down his cheek and landed on the skull.

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><p>Evening had fallen. John remained as he had been in the armchair, but his eyes hung heavy and he felt himself nodding off. He wondered incoherently if he would dream of Sherlock's last moments again, as he did on so many nights. Sure enough, as he shut his eyes, John felt his limbs sinking into that sweet darkness and then, suddenly, the feeling of falling hit him in a rush of wind and noise. He'd had this dream before – dreamed Sherlock's death from every aspect and angle, from standing behind him when he jumped to actually being the one to take the fall. Calmly, he opened his eyes, expecting to see the pavement outside of St. Bart's rushing up at him.<p>

But tonight was not like other nights. Instead of cold gray pavement below, he glimpsed soft, fluffy white clouds as they bounced off of him and dissolved into vapors, and he found himself plummeting downward toward the most beautiful green meadow he had ever seen. A bright cerulean sky nearly blinded him. Panic surged through him. He started to flail his arms, only to find that they weren't arms at all, but furred and tan-colored legs that ended in polished hooves! John exclaimed in surprise, the sound swallowed by the rushing air.

He shut his eyes against his imminent death, thinking to himself between terror and his own pounding heartbeats, 'It's just a dream. If you die in a dream, you just wake up. You just wake…'

The collision swallowed his world, and John Watson himself, in darkness and silence.


	3. Chapter 2

**My Little Sociopath: Friendship is Magic  
><strong>By Erin R. Lightning

**Chapter 2  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"The poor thing…" said a meek and feminine voice.<p>

"Whoa, I've never seen a Pegasus pony eat dirt like that before!" Came another, much louder than the first.

"He's a bit…plain, don't you think?" A more high-strung one this time.

"Rarity!" the fourth chided.

"What? I'm just saying…"

"Oh my gosh! You guys, check this out! He's got a blank flank!" The second voice prodded his derriere not too lightly. Watson's eyes started to open, only to find the whole world spinning. He closed them again and tried to open them slower this time. A purplish shape stood above him, a lighter yellow just slightly behind it. They started to clear….and he closed his eyes again. Right. Still dreaming. Had to be.

"Rainbow, don't say things like that!" the fourth voice, and subsequently the one standing directly in front of him.

"But it's true!"

"I think he's starting to come around, ya'll," a fifth voice said much too close to Watson's head.

He opened one eye slowly to find a pony the color of macaroni looking at him quizzically with one bright green eye. In a panic, he scrambled backward, but his hooves were not nearly as dexterous as hands and he slipped in the dirt, bumping into another pony – the second speaker, he could tell, as she reprimanded him to "Watch it!" loudly – though this one had a cyan coat and a mane that was striped in every color of the rainbow and, was it just him, or was she flying? He tried to change direction, all while the serious pony with the purple coat and mane tried to grab him, chiding, "Whoa, easy there-" but he simply ended up flopped on his belly in a most unflattering way.

"St-stay back," Watson choked out, putting his hooves on top of his head. He suddenly longed for his armchair, for the warm fire at his new flat, for his bed...'Stay back?' his mind said, 'Really? What are you going to do? Hoof them to death?'

"Goodness," said a white pony with a long, flowing violet mane – the third pony he had heard before. She trotted toward him - he could hear her voice getting closer and he opened one eye to peer up through his hooves at her. "Is that how you treat a lady?"

"Hit your head there pretty hard, didn't you, sugarcube?" The macaroni-colored pony crossed her fore-hooves and regarded him quizzically.

"Hit my...oh," Watson said. 'Right,' he thought. 'Right, it's just a dream. Admit it, you haven't been sleeping well lately, you're exhausted, so…so you make a land of ponies in your head. Well, I suppose it's not the most logical solution but then again, it could be worse.'

He must have been speaking out loud, because the purple pony looked at him matter-of-factly and said, "You're not dreaming; you're in Ponyville."

"Ponyville?" Watson asked.

'Yuck, oh darling, we need to get you cleaned up. I mean, I know colts like to play in the mud but-" The white pony made a face, reaching into her saddlebag to produce a white silk handkerchief. She dabbed at Watson's face as he tried to sit up – it was a bit awkward, since humans' arms aren't nearly as long as their legs, but he managed it after a few tries. He was about to thank the kind pony when he felt something strange on his back, like a flickering tension in his shoulder blades. He glanced over his shoulder and his jaw dropped. Wings! Tan, feathered wings! "Ah!" Watson exclaimed, reaching back to grab at them with his hooves and accidentally sending Rarity sprawling in his haste. "What in the-"

The cyan pony, now floating several inches off of the ground, fixed him with a look of utter astonishment, one front hoof rested against her chin. "Oh come on, you forgot you could fly?"

"Fly? I can't fly! I'm not a – a – whatever you are, flying pony, I'm a human for Christ's sake!" Watson cried in a fit. 'Pegasus,' his mind supplied, a little too late. 'They are pegasuses, John. Or rather pegasi.' 'Great,' John thought. 'Great, imaginary Sherlock is doing the thinking for you now. Just great.'

"Human?" the macaroni pony asked. "What's a human?"

"We can find out later. He's going to hurt himself even more. Applejack-" The purple pony said.

"On it!" And with that, the macaroni pony whipped out a length of rope and, with skill Watson had never seen from any man, let alone a pony, lassoed him about the legs, pulling him to an abrupt and immediate halt. He blinked.

"Who ARE you crazy ponies?" Watson asked.

The purple pony gave a little smile of accomplishment and gestured to herself with a hoof. "I'm Twilight Sparkle and this is Applejack," – gesturing to the macaroni-hued lassoer – "Rarity," – to the white pony now trying to wipe the dirt out of her own mane and scowling, - "Fluttershy," – to the shy yellow pegasus pony who had remained hidden behind her, "and…"

"The one and only Rainbow Dash. Hold your applause," said the cyan pony, striking a heroic pose. Twilight looked up at her interruption disapprovingly.

"And you are?" Twilight asked.

"Uh," Imaginary Sherlock - or rather John's mind - told him to be creative. With names like Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash, they must have been expecting something thrilling and…magical? from him. He tried to think of something.

"John Watson?" he said, coming up empty.

"Jo-hn…? Watson?" Rainbow Dash asked. "What kind of silly name is that?" And she burst into raucous laughter. Rarity shook a hoof at her. "Come now, Rainbow Dash, I'm sure it's a lovely name wherever this…gentlepony," she had to force the word out, still a bit bitter over the tumble he had sent her on. John blushed ashamedly. "…comes from." With blinking violet eyes, she looked at him. "Where do you come from?"

John thought of his home. "Baker Street. In London."

"London?" Twilight said, putting a hoof to her chin. "Can't say I've heard of it."

"Is that in Phillydelphia?" Rarity asked.

"It's in Britain," John supplied. Twilight looked lost. Out of the corner of his eye, John could vaguely catch Rainbow Dash making the "loopy" gesture at her, but Twilight just shrugged.

"Baker Street?" Applejack added after an awkward pause. "So you can bake?"

"Well, no, I'm quite bad at it actually," John said. "Well, except for toast."

"…To…ast…?" Applejack fumbled with the word. John's heart sank. No toast in Ponyville? Blasphemy.

"Well," Twilight Sparkle said, laughing nervously and shifting from hoof to hoof. "It's clear that you come from somewhere very, very far away, so…why don't you stay at the library with me until we can get this all sorted out. Maybe Princess Celestia can help."

John was just about to ask about the Princess when a crack like the sound of lightning broke the air above them in a vibrant purple flash. Fluttershy ducked behind Twilight and shut her eyes tight, but everyone else glanced up with interest to see a single pink letter fluttering down from the clouds. Rainbow Dash flew up and snatched it, flying back down effortlessly as she held it between her hooves and read, "Make some friends, -SH."

John struggled. "That's mine! Give it to me!" he said, sternly, but before he could get free, he saw the note begin to glow with a soft pink luminance. It floated as if of its own accord from Rainbow's hooves to hang in the air in front of Twilight. John was agape – magic unicorns? Pegasi? Really, he had never fancied himself the creative type before. Maybe it was the fumes from Mrs. Hudson's herbal soothers.

"This looks like the Princess' handwriting," she said, confused. "But who is SH?"

Rainbow Dash shrugged. "Sunny Hooves? But why would she write a letter like this?"

Applejack tapped a hoof thoughtfully to her chin. "SH….SH….not ringing any bells. Maybe Pinkie would know?"

Sherlock Holmes is the greatest man who ever lived, John wanted to say. He felt himself shaking.

"Hey everypony, look-" Twilight held the note up to the others. "There's more on the back. _"P.S. When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth." _What could that mean?"

"Twilight Sparkle," John said suddenly, fixing her with a determined look. "I need to see the Princess."

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><p><em>Author's Note: I wrote an absurd amount today. Literally. About 10,000 words. In one day. And I was going to keep this little gem for tomorrow or Sunday, just to space out the release of the chapters and give you something to look forward to. But I've been neglecting my PMs big time. So this one goes out to a certain lovely reviewer who dropped me a message two months ago and whom I just replied to now. :o <em>

_Hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it!_


	4. Chapter 3

**My Little Sociopath: Friendship is Magic  
><strong>By Erin R. Lightning

**Chapter 3  
><strong>

_*Note: If you've been following this story for a while now, please re-read Chapter 2 before reading Chapter 3 - I made a few very important changes! ~ Erin*_

* * *

><p><em>"When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth."<em>

Watson's hooves clicked against polished bark. He stared out the window anxiously, his ears flicking with agitation. It had been three days since he had arrived in Ponyville and he had yet to meet with the Princess -granted, she was a Princess, she must therefore be terribly busy – and Watson could understand that. What he couldn't put his hoof on was exactly what he was expected to do in the meantime besides stand around while Twilight Sparkle asked him a million and one questions about where he came from and who he was. He could never tell if she took him seriously or not. Then again, if a bunch of rainbow-colored, talking ponies thought he was crazy, he just might be.

After the first day, he'd given up hoping this was a dream. Twilight had been gracious enough to let him stay at her library, a great oak tree whose hollowed out trunk was crammed from root to leaf with books. Sherlock would have been thrilled, but John…

"John," snapped a grumpy voice from up in the loft. His pacing came to an abrupt stop. The violet pony's face appeared, glaring daggers down at him, frazzled mane sticking out in all directions. "The sun is not even up yet."

John tilted his face away, embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he said, meekly. He hadn't heard her use such an angry tone before. In fact, she had been more than accommodating – after all, when she had taken him in, he was just a man in the body of a pony, a full grown stallion more helpless than a tiny foal. It was Twilight who had taught him how to walk, how to pick up objects with his hooves, what to eat, what to say - how to act like a pony. And here he was repaying her by keeping her up half the night.

Twilight sighed and her tone became a little softer. "I'm all for early morning exercise," she said, descending the stairs. "But do you think you could do it outside?" She gave him a little nudge in the direction of the door, swinging it open with her magic. John took the hint.

A few minutes later, he found himself on the outskirts of Ponyville. It was so quiet, so still out here. And so dark. John thought of the apartment. His head lowered and he stared down the lonely street. He'd grieved enough these past few days for both their lifetimes. Now he just felt small and alone. He knew not where he was going, nor did he care. The breeze blew cold against his shoulders. He felt an incline beneath his hooves and glanced up to find himself mounting a grassy knoll overlooking a lush pasture dappled in the soft tones of moonlight. It seemed as good a place as any. Slumping down onto his back legs, he brought his front hooves up to cover his tired eyes.

The words came out before he even thought about them. "Sherlock, I don't understand. I don't understand any of this. What do you want from me? You want me to make friends? I'm nothing like them! They're all sunshine and rainbows and fluffy bunnies and I've been in the war, Sherlock! I've seen death and murder and horrors they wouldn't even understand!" He turned his eyes skyward, felt the anger welling up inside of him. But also pain – deep and sharp as a knife. "They sleep soundly every night because nothing ever goes wrong in their world. And I lie awake because I-" he faltered, his head hanging low once again. The tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. His voice grew soft. "I watched you die. I watched you die, Sherlock, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. I was there and I…I just wish…"

Something colorful caught his eye. John looked up just as a pink note brushed against his cheek, twirling and dancing on the breeze. _Sherlock! _John grasped for it frantically, just barely managing to grab it before the wind could blow it away. For a moment, he felt disappointed. Was Sherlock just going to keep haunting him about making friends? But as he turned it over, he felt his heart skip a beat, only to feel utterly confused a second later as he read the all-too-familiar childhood rhyme.

_"Starlight, starbright – first star I see tonight-"_

"Wish I may, wish I might have the wish I wish tonight," John said, glancing up. But it was already becoming light with the first rays of dawn. The stars had all gone. His heart sank. Just a joke then?

"Very funny," John said. "That's very funny, Sherlock!" He yelled, angrily. But he knew Sherlock couldn't hear him. Only the familiar silence answered him. He pawed the ground with his hoof, frustrated.

But he couldn't take his eyes off the night sky. Something instinctual in him, some small hope, made the words come tumbling out. _"I wish…" _As he said it, he closed his eyes for the briefest second, wishing with all of his might. When he opened them again…nothing. _That's it_, he decided. _That's enough disappointment for one night_. He turned to head back to the library.

And that's when he saw it, though he almost couldn't believe his eyes. A shooting star, bright violet, but with a streaming azure tail, rocketing across the night sky over the pasture. He swung round to get a better look, only to find that it wasn't a star at all, but a purple pony, much taller than any of the ones he'd seen so far, with glorious violet wings and a long, thin unicorn horn, adorned in midnight black armor. It wasn't the color or size of the pony though that made John's wings stretch open and beat furiously against the wind; it wasn't its armor that sent him galloping down the knoll just as fast as his hooves could carry him, made his voice bellow out desperately.

It was the navy scarf that billowed behind it on the wind. A familiar scarf that meant the pony could be no one else besides...

"SHERLOCK!" John cried. He flapped his wings as hard as he could, felt them trying to lift him off of the ground. He ran faster, trying to get more momentum. "SHERLOCK, WAIT!" He was panting with the effort, felt his lungs gasping for air. Harder he flapped, faster he ran – he felt himself rising and for one glorious second he saw the distance between them closing. But he had never flown before. He called his dear friend's name once more, pumped his wings as hard as he could, just before a stray air current ripped him from the sky and sent him hurtling straight down into a hay cart.

Something felt broken. Watson's head swam. The sound of wings brought everything back into focus.

"Sherlock!" Panic seized his cry. Shaking off the pain of the impact, John stuffed his nose out from the warm, prickly pile. But it was not Sherlock who stared down at him with a cock-eyed golden gaze.

"Are you okay, mister-whoa!" John shoved her to the side with his hoof, eyes frantically searching the sky.

But the pony with the trailing navy scarf was gone.

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><p><em>Author's Note: A lot of people have been worried that I intended to abandon this fic. Yes, it has been a very long time since I have been able to get the time to write. But I'm here with some great news - I'm taking a few months to focus full-time on my writing. This means that, as of today, MLS: FIM will be <span>updated weekly<span>. So check back next Wednesday for the next chapter! _

_A few other things: As usual, I love hearing your input! I wish I had the time to reply to everyone, but please do be sure that I read every review and appreciate them very much! Also, I am working on covers for all of my stories as we speak; MLS's should be up by 8pm EST tonight so definitely come check it out! And finally, because someone had brought it up in my PMs recently - I love to role-play. And I'm very friendly. You are always welcome to PM me if you need a role-play partner, or if you just have questions/interests/feels you'd like to chat about. :D_

_Cheerio!_


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